Work Text:
Pet·ri·chor
noun
a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.
It's been an abnormally hot spring in Washington state this year.
Your garden struggles to survive in the ninety-degree weather while you swelter inside all day, AC not being standard built in the house.
Sunset is fast approaching, providing a slight reprieve as the temperature drops incrementally. The windows are all thrown open, curtains drifting in the breeze. You feel gross today, sweaty and sticky skin, desperately needing a cold shower. You've never been much of a summer person, and it shows while you miserably sweep the floors, frowning deeply.
You're cleaning your house neurotically today, nervous with anticipation for your boyfriend's arrival.
It's a relatively new and tenuous relationship, sparked from a chance encounter in Vegas months ago. He had only been meant to be a one-night stand, but one thing led to another, and here you are. He texted you yesterday that he was on leave for a couple of weeks and had already booked a flight to you.
Now you scramble to make everything tidy, a mixture of anxiety and excitement burning in your stomach. You've been at it for hours.
The doorbell ringing snaps you into awareness, and the broom you'd been using nearly drops from your grasp. You rest the broom against the wall and smooth your clothes, checking everything is orderly and fixing your hair briefly before jogging over to the door.
Pulling the door open eagerly, you open it with a smile, revealing the man behind.
Keegan Russ.
Your eyes rake over his appearance, eventually settling on his own gaze. You've always thought his eyes were beautiful, the perfect image of rain and ice, a frosty hue, unlike anything you've ever seen. The color contrasts even more with the black athleisure he's wearing. His appearance throws you off momentarily, your brain stuttering and going on 900 ping.
...
Keegan's dark brow raises, amused by your fish-out-of-water expression.
"Alright, come on." He shakes his head and takes hold of your hips, guiding you backward and kicking the door shut behind him.
Your brain finally catches up when the door clicks.
"Oh my god, hi!" You squeal and throw your arms around his neck, yanking and hugging him close. He smells just as you remembered, solidifying the fact that he's really here.
"Hey." Keegan chuckles at your sudden alertness and rubs your back affectionately.
It was given when you got into the relationship that he wouldn't be around much. Knowing that didn't prepare you for how genuinely lonely it would get. You'd wait for days, weeks, at a time, sometimes becoming so caught in your head that you doubted he would return. Realistically, it's always a possibility.
The sun is quickly falling, meaning it's around 9 pm or 21:00 to him. Conversations involving time always confuse you since you go by different terms, but you've begun to pick it up slowly.
You back up and place your hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "You want dinner or anything? I bought stuff to make fajitas earlier." You ask, distracted by the feel of his shirt on your fingertips, inwardly still processing that this is really him.
Keegan's hands wrap around your wrists and pull you off gently. "Let's do that tomorrow; I'm not hungry right now. I brought something for you, though," He says, digging into one of his pockets and pulling an item out, opening your hand, and setting it in your palm. Cold metal. When his fingers slip away, you peer down curiously. A dog tag. "I made you a copy, thought you might like it."
You thumb over the engravings and fiddle with the attached chain, a honey-sweet sensation choking your throat. A rare rosey hue tinges Keegan's cheeks the longer you stare at it.
He coughs. "If not, I can-"
"Ah!" You stop him, shoving your index finger to his lips. "I love it." You affirm with a growing grin. "Who would've known you're such a sap." Giggling, you remove your finger and kiss him quickly.
Your boyfriend visibly loosens, relaxing his posture.
Looping the chain around your head, you slide it on, nestling it beneath your shirt. With one last grin, you turn around and grab the broom you ditched earlier and move to put it away.
"Now take off your shoes, you damn heathen! Just swept!"
The immediate sound of laces untying follow you as you leave the room.
~
Night fell long ago, the heat abandoning the world and dropping to fifty degrees by midnight. Soft music plays from your speakers, and warm lamps light the room, a homely ambiance. Both of you are sat in your office, reading books and comfortable in suede armchairs.
Yes, it is the middle of the night. You can't find yourself being tired, not wanting the day to end.
Keegan brushes his thumb over your knuckles as you read, only parting to turn the page of his book. He's reading Plagues and Peoples, a novel you'd never gotten around to reading despite having two copies for over ten years. You're reading something you purchased a few weeks back during a spending spree at the local bookstore - Suite française - an exciting read.
You're not sure when you started reading or how long has passed. The house has become chilly, causing you to curl in on yourself in seek of warmth.
Reading books together became a pass time you'd share a while back when your boyfriend had come by during Christmas.
It's a silly memory. Christmas day had been the first time you managed to get a full-blown, hearty laugh from Keegan when you slipped on ice and proceeded to slide down the street, unable to gain footing. You hammed up faux irritation and demanded to be carried inside like a princess. Indeed, he did take you inside and went to the office where you directed him; only, you didn't expect him to chuck you onto one of your beanbags like a sack of potatoes.
He'd laughed for several minutes at the look on your face, evidently in a humorous mood at your expense.
You couldn't help but laugh, too, the ridiculousness of the day catching up to you. Once both of you calmed down, your boyfriend scanned the room with interest, having never been in it before. It led to you talking for hours on end about all the books you have and enjoy.
By the end of that night, the two of you sat much like now, thumbing through books and listening to Christmas tunes, the lightest bits of snow falling outside the window.
Sometimes you'll find a mysterious new book or two on your desk after Keegan leaves.
A crack of thunder so loud breaks the calm environment, feeling as if it shook your house with the pure volume and proximity. It must've been directly above your roof. Neither of you jumps despite the sudden boom, tearing your gazes from the pages and looking out the window.
Outside the window is a blackened abyss, turbulent clouds rolling in the inky sky.
A surge of excitement hits you when you see the brewing storm.
Firstly, your plants will drink that shit up and thrive.
Secondly, you love storms.
Shutting your book, you jump up with a pep in your step. "Wanna sit outside?" You ask animatedly, snapping Keegan out of his intense stare down with the window. He places a bookmark on the pages before setting the book down and nodding. He looks mildly bewildered but agrees nonetheless.
You offer a hand to get him up, delighted when he takes it and rises.
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he takes in your thrilled expression, loving to see his partner so happy despite not understanding what it's about. Before you can dash out of the room, he snatches your wrist and tips your head back with an index finger. His lips are on yours before you can blink, a lingering kiss that flutters butterflies in your gut. He smatters your cheeks and nose with a few more before releasing you with an affectionate glint in his eye.
"I need a smoke anyways." Keegan pats his pockets, checking that he still has a box and lighter. Upon confirming, he tells you to head out.
When you enter the foyer and slip on shoes, your companion makes an odd noise, clicking his tongue while looking through the curtains.
"Blanket?" He asks, raising a brow in question.
"Blanket." You answer.
Your hair is ruffled as he passes. "I'll meet you out there." Then he disappears around the corner, presumably to raid the living room basket for a blanket.
Once your shoes are slipped on, you open the door and step outside.
Petrichor.
You inhale deeply, the fresh scent of rain and nature washing over you. Droplets of rain begin splattering onto the grass and streets. Thunder rumbles in the distance while you sit on the bench of your covered porch, settling comfortably on the thin cushions.
Keegan joins you a minute later, carrying a fuzzy blanket. He sits beside you and takes hold of your legs, firm hands pulling your thighs and setting your lower half over his lap. His arm slides behind you, and he pulls you close, his other hand laying the blanket over the top of both of you.
Being bundled up like this floods you with an overwhelming sense of adoration, and you nuzzle closer, enjoying the warmth radiating off him. Over the last few months, you've noticed that while your boyfriend isn't one for constant chatter or PDA, he always takes care of you when you're alone. It'll be the small things like reminding you to wash your face every night, rubbing your back while you fall asleep, or waking you up to breakfast already made.
He's constantly observing, always remembering. You'll mention how you like Skittles one day, and the next time he comes home, he brings a pound of it. He spoils you to no end, materialistically and otherwise, and yet, he will be astonished when you do the same.
You recall the first time you brought him flowers, and he physically stumbled, caught off guard. The flustered expression on his face was a greater reward than anything you could've asked for.
There have been rough days, although they are rare. Days where he would awake in the middle of the night, fighting ghosts and struggling to breathe. Days where he would be even quieter than usual, getting lost in his mind, and you could only wrap him in blankets and watch on. Days where you sat alone in silence, praying for his return.
One day, you'd been throwing up from anxiety, a thick cloud of negative thoughts haunting you. He was supposed to have been home over three weeks ago, his last message to you telling you that he ships back by dawn. Days and eventually weeks had passed with no word back beyond that.
~
Keegan walks into your home in the middle of the night, still wearing his uniform and discarding his duffle bag in the foyer. You'd been on the verge of sleep when he arrived, your body jolting and sending you tumbling to the floor when the door slammed.
It's a blur, but you remember scrambling up and running downstairs, rounding the corner, and seeing him. You just felt anguish and frustration, vastly overshadowing the relief of seeing him.
"Where were you!?" You shouted, blinded by your emotions, not realizing the volume you hit.
He froze, pausing mid-step, his gaze flickering across your features. You looked tired, eyes puffy and red. Keegan lifted a hand to attempt to quell the storm you were brewing, befuddled and concerned, but you continued.
"It's been weeks, Keegan! You were supposed to be home weeks ago!" You can't control yourself anymore, breathing heavily.
His posture changed, an understanding flashing through him, and he began to step closer, taking care to move without startling you. He remained silent, letting you vent.
"I've been worried sick!" You exclaimed brokenly, unable to stop him when his arms wrapped around you and tugged you into his chest. Tears stung your eyes as your anger faded into sadness, throat clenching and growing scratchy. "I was scared; I didn't know if something happened..." You whisper, face pressed into his uniform and attempting to keep your voice steady.
Keegan caressed your hair, supporting you as you clung to him, shudders flowing down your body.
"Don't do that to me." You managed to say between sobs, hiding your face.
"I'm sorry." He murmured lowly, his voice a reflection of your sorrow.
~
That had been a hard time for both of you, and he promised he would do better since then. You also knew that even with his promise, he may be unable to keep it. It was wrong to take your frustration out on him, and deep down, you were just relieved he was back in one piece.
The sound of a lighter flicking brings you back to awareness.
Keegan cradles a cigarette between his lips, bringing the flame to the tip and puffing until it's lit. You watch lazily as he clicks the lighter shut and exhales, a cloud of smoke drifting past his teeth. After another puff, he slides his gaze to you and offers the cig. While tempting, you shake your head.
He hums. "What was it that you called them when we first met? Cancer sticks?"
Groaning, you reminisce. "Yeah. I used to be a heavy smoker back in the day, but I relied on it too much. I'll still smoke socially sometimes." You answer honestly, looking up at the sky.
Lightning flashes, an electrifying streak from the heavens above, and you smile. It's otherworldly. There's no feeling on earth like sitting outside during a thunderstorm, lighting streaking across the sky, rain pounding the dirt, and the crisp scents in the air.
"I love storms." You say dreamily, eyes locked on the raging clouds.
Calloused fingers rub swirls on your collarbone, caressing the scars there. You feel his focus on you.
"How come?" He questions, ashing his cigarette in a long-forgotten tray beside the bench.
It's nostalgic, startlingly so, to be staring up into the abyss above, a connection between now and the past flitting behind your eyelids. It brings you back to your childhood, long gone, swept away by the waves of time, each grain a different memory.
The chilled breeze grazes exposed skin, and you close your eyes, inhaling.
Pine.
Herbs.
Dirt.
Wet grass.
Rain on cement.
Tobacco.
And something sweet.
It's a symphony of divine nature, a raw scent so individual it can only be carried on the broiling winds of a storm.
Keegan burns through the cigarette, content to relax in the silence you create, too busy taking in your surroundings and environment.
Minutes pass until your eyes flutter open, and you lean your head back, melting and becoming one with the bench and your companion holding you.
"My mom dated this guy when I was little, I dunno, ten or eleven, and he was rich. When I say rich, I mean millionaire status. We came from poor means, and I think she dated him for us, her kids. He wasn't a good man," You start, elaborating from the beginning. "But the one good thing he had, was his house. It was a mansion made of glass. Four stories, maybe more, out on mercer island," The memories flash in your mind as if being played on a tape. "I mean, his Christmas tree was two stories high; that house was crazy."
You laugh softly, chest rising and falling. "As you can imagine, it was wonderful for a tiny kid. He had these huge, beautiful windows you could stare through all day. Entire walls of just...window." Keegan puts his cigarette out, listening as you talk. "There was a storm one day, and I was completely enraptured. You could see everything. The rain, the trees blowing, the lightning. There were constant flashes. Some were purple, the most magnificent thing I've ever seen. I've been obsessed with lightning since then."
Blowing out a breath, you finish, not knowing how to convey your feelings on it entirely.
Another flash lights up the sky, drawing both of your attention.
"Well, when I was young, I saw that one war of the worlds movie, and I've been horrified since." Keegan eventually says, a wry grin plastered on his façade.
A cackle bursts out of you, and you turn your head. "No way!"
Imagining a tiny Keegan cowering away from the tv screen while alien tripods blast people to smithereens is too good not to laugh at, as terrible as that may sound.
He snickers with you, meeting your gaze with a warm look. "Unfortunately."
"I love that movie!" You exclaim and wiggle off him, rolling to your feet. "C'mon, let's go watch it!"
Keegan levels you with an exasperated stare.
"C'monnnn." You pull on his hand, trying to get him up.
He sighs. "You're lucky I love you." Then he stands with you tugging him up. Before walking inside, he kisses you on your temple.
"I'll make hot cocoa while you set it up." He says and opens the door for you, ushering you in.
Later, you lay on top of him, cozy and enveloped in blankets and his arms, the tv rolling through scenes of the movie. Tomorrow feels eons away; this moment is encapsulated in its everlasting time. You doze off at some point, tired from all the cleaning you did and safe with your lover. The darkness of sleep finds you quickly, wrapping you tight in its embrace.
Keegan runs his fingers up and down your spine, zoned into the movie the entire time. When the credits roll, he finally notices you passed out and chuckles. Carefully extracting himself from underneath you, he gets up and slides his arms under your shoulders and knees, lifting you. He cradles you to his chest, carrying you up the stairs.
The bed is soft and welcoming, fluffy as clouds. He lays you to rest and pulls the blanket up to your chin, tucking you in. Keegan hovers over you and kisses your cheek before pulling away.
He leaves the room to clean the dishes and turn everything off, ensuring to lock the front door.
When he returns, he joins you in bed, nestling against you.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."